


Coeur d'homme

by cloud_wolfbane



Category: Hannibal (TV), Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Cannibalism, Crossover, Gen, I Don't Even Know, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-21
Updated: 2014-01-21
Packaged: 2018-01-09 13:45:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,385
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1146695
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cloud_wolfbane/pseuds/cloud_wolfbane
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When John was seven he told his father he wanted to be a doctor.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Coeur d'homme

John was seven when he told his father he wanted to be a doctor. 

He told his father because mum was in England and he and Harry were spending the summer with dad while she got settled. It also helped that his Dad was a doctor specializing in trauma surgery, even if he was going back to school to be a psychiatrist. 

John is quite certain that his entire life would have been different had he not told his father about becoming a doctor that summer, but we’ll get to that later. 

***

Sherlock knew John was a little cracked, he had deduced that the moment the man had walked into St. Bart’s all those months ago. But the more time he spent with the Doctor, the more he realized John was hiding something. 

The first hint was John was an avid Vegetarian. Which made very little sense for an Army doctor that had killed a man within a day of meeting him. Sherlock could see no moral or religious reasons for it. He thought it might have been a result of his time in Afghanistan, but John showed all the signs of having been a Vegetarian for a very long time, perhaps since secondary school. 

The second hint came during a crime scene. Anderson was off in a corner scarfing down a burger. Wrinkles in his clothing showed he had been working since before the sun came up, he of course had not learned to ignore his useless body signals. Sherlock ignored him after that; if he was eating then he would be distracted long enough for Sherlock to do his job in peace. 

John, on the other hand, looked furious. He straightened his shoulders, widened his stance as if prepared for battle and snapped. “Do you not have any decency? For God’s sake man, go outside.” 

Anderson looked up, startled. It was just shy of zero outside and was being careful not to leave a mess. 

Lestrade looked equally startled and had to clear his throat before saying, “Err, yeah just step outside for a moment.” 

Anderson looked prepared to argue, but John was still posed liked a solider fit to strike, so he took his lunch and disappeared outside. 

John looked ill for the rest of the day. Old memories, Sherlock thought, but there wasn’t enough data. 

****

That summer John’s dad brought him animals that had been put down at the local shelter and taught him how to cut them open and see what was wrong. After each little surgery he would show John how to thread the needle and he would stitch them back up with his little fingers. 

“Its good to get practice young John, look how neat your stitches are,” his dad would tell him. 

John was so proud. 

****

Sherlock is not certain he ever would have guessed at John’s secret if it hadn’t been for Trafalgar Square. 

They were called in early in the morning for the murder and Sherlock was ecstatic. Trafalgar square was busy at all hours; committing a murder in the center of it would take some skill. 

The crime scene was beautiful. 

The body had been skewered on five Chinese style spears, while blood had been used to paint ‘RACHE’ in front of it. 

“Sherlock, I wasn’t sure about calling you in for this one, but I knew you would force your way in once you heard about the victim,” Lestrade remarked. 

Sherlock blinked, surprised. He hadn’t seen the victims face yet; he was still admiring the handy work. 

It was a white male 30 to 35, he was naked except for a green parka that was starting to look frighteningly familiar. Sherlock stepped to the side of the body. He could see the chest cavity had been cut open with surgical precision and it appeared the heart was missing. 

The face was completely unmarked, making it obvious to identify James Moriarty, his jaw open and eyes wide in permanent shock. 

****

Harry never liked spending summers with their Dad in the States, so she tended to stay in England. John took any reason to get away from his obnoxious older sibling and went every year. 

On the summer after he turned eight, his dad brought home a live animal. It was a young dog with a broken leg. His dad said it had been hit by a car and needed help. His dad helped him prep the needle and calculate just the right amount of medication to put the dog comfortably asleep for a few hours. They splinted the leg and stitched up the wound. 

For a few weeks John played doctor to the dog, feeding him and giving him his antibiotics everyday, but when his leg was all healed up his dad took the dog to the pound. “ You can’t keep all of your patients, John,” his dad told him. 

John was sad, but he supposed it made sense. 

After that, the animals they fixed up never stayed more than a day. John left that summer having worked on everything from a bird to a fawn. 

****

Sherlock was so shocked he stumbled away from the body. He naturally searched for John within the crowd of policemen. 

John was standing in front of the ‘display’, starring at the bloody words on the pavement. “Rache,” he murmured, “German for Revenge.” 

“Yeah, I noticed that too,” Lestrade commented from his side. “I would have never let either one of you in on this if I hadn’t of known exactly where you were yesterday night. Time of death was estimated at 1900 to 1200.”

Last night Sherlock and John had spent those hours going through old case files at NSY in search of Moriarty connections. They had not made it back to Baker Street until an hour before the call. 

“One of them could have still done it, if anyone knew how to fake time of death it would be the Freak,” Sally sneered. 

“Sally!,” Lestrade admonished, “We know the body was not placed until 0300, which was the exact time that CCTV was tampered with. There was a loop inserted into the system for 10 minutes, when the loop stopped, the body appeared on screen.” 

“Clearly he was killed elsewhere and moved here. The heart was removed while he was still alive, there should be blood all around the body, but there is just the writing. He was drained and brought here,” Sherlock remarked, stepping over to the writing. “The murder was a doctor, specializing in surgery based on the cleanness of the cuts. The words and the display say it is someone familiar with John’s blog. ‘Rache’ from our first case together, the Chinese arrows based on The Blind Baker case, and the green parka from the confrontation at the pool.”

“So someone got revenge on Moriarty for you, but who has that sort of skill?” Lestrade asked.

“Well, now that is the question Detective,” Sherlock grinned, pressing his hands together in his usual thinking pose. 

****

When John was nine his Dad showed him the basement. It was a big sterile room that looked just like the operating rooms at the hospital. 

His dad showed him all the different scalpels and what they were for. He showed him how to prep an IV and how to calculate medication doses based on weight. 

A few days later there was a human woman on the table. 

She was strapped down and had tape tight across her mouth. Her eyes were wide and so very, very blue. There were tears streaking down her cheeks and soft whimpers broke through the tape. 

“Dad?” John had turned to his father, confused and scared. 

“It’s alright,” he had told him, “How are you going to learn if you don’t practice?”

John had been the one to prep the IV, to add the medication to the line that would put the woman under. His Dad had to make the initial cuts, john’s hands were shaking so bad. They cracked the chest cavity and John got to see the still beating heart and the slowly moving lungs. Then he sent him upstairs to clean up for dinner. John never saw that woman again. 

****

The case hit a dead end rather quickly. There were no obvious suspects, besides himself and John, and there were no clues. No DNA had been left behind, no telling fibers, or bits of mud. Sherlock could not even tell where the kill had taken place. 

It was all very clean. It was not the marks of a first kill. 

John grew unusually quite during the case. He spoke very little; offering none of the illuminating comments Sherlock so valued him for. 

It was two weeks after Moriarty’s murder that the FBI got involved. 

Sherlock and John were at Scotland Yard going over some tedious paperwork involved in a different case, barely a 4 honestly, when they came in. 

He tracked them instantly, a white male, late thirties, in a rumpled polo shirt and jeans. His hair was curly black with signs of early grey, he also had a scruff of a beard, 3 or 4 days old. He was an American, works with the FBI in some form, but not an officer. 

The man at his side is taller, in his fifties, with blond hair just a touch too long for modern trends, but sleeked back into a professional style. His suit is pristine, not a mark out of place despite the plane ride, OCD then. His eyes are actually a shade of maroon that Sherlock has never seen on a human. He takes in the office in a manor that Sherlock finds familiar. He also isn’t FBI, in fact stance reads Psychiatrist, but the fading marks on his fingers say surgeon. 

John absolutely freezes at his side. 

Sherlock is distracted by the odd reaction, when Lestrade brings the two men into the office. 

Lestrade introduces them with a wry grin, “This is Sherlock Holmes and Dr. John Watson. Guys, these are consultants from the FBI about the Moriarty case, Dr. Will Graham and Dr…”

“Hannibal Lector,” John interrupts, stepping forward. 

“Hello John, its been awhile,” Hannibal greets, his voice warm, but his eyes are cold. 

Sherlock notes the slight accent, Lithuanian ancestry. 

***

When John returns the next summer, his dad brings him back to the basement. There is another body, still alive. His dad stabs the woman in the abdominal cavity and tells John to save her. 

She bleeds out before he can even attach the IV. 

His dad makes him break the body down as one would handle a chicken or a pig. He tells him, “They are just meat John, just meat.”

They have liver for dinner that night. 

****

“You two know each other?” Lestrade sounds surprised. 

John’s smile is fierce, “this is my father.” 

Sherlock is shocked. He knew that John’s mother died when he was in college, but he had never put any thought into the absentee father. A surgeon and then a psychiatrist, works for the FBI, hmm, that explains a great deal. 

“I didn’t know you had any children,” Will comments.

Hannibal gives a half grin, his face is so carefully scripted it is like watching a play, “John and his sister were born of my rather foolish youth, they both stayed with their mother in England while I moved to the States. Though John used to visit me in the summer until he started college.” 

There is something in that statement that Sherlock very much does not like. 

“You’re here because of the Chesapeake Ripper then?” John asks. 

Will blinks in surprise. “Yes, I’m surprised you’ve heard of him. The murder in the square seems very similar, the FBI sent us here to try and determine if the Ripper has moved.” 

“I try to keep an eye on my father’s cases, “ John says. 

“You didn’t mention this before,” Sherlock says, absolutely not pouting. 

“I did not think he would actually come to England,” John scowls. 

***

By his last summer in the States John calculates that he has failed to save 27 people. 

Number 28 is a miracle. 

John saves the man without a blood infusion and minimum amount of equipment. His dad claps him on the shoulder and tells him it was a job well done, but he does not let John go with him to drop the man off. 

They have mushroom risotto for dinner and John is so proud. 

When he leaves at the end of the summer he swears never to come back and to never eat meat again. He makes one exception. 

***

Will goes to the hotel to rest, but Hannibal goes with them back to Baker Street. 

John is stiff and silent, but he keeps his hands busy making tea. 

“I’m sorry,” Hannibal says, his voice as flat as ever. Sherlock cannot fathom how this man’s genes made John Watson. 

“No you’re not, but…” John pauses biting at his lip, “Thank you.” 

“No, I suppose I’m not,” Hannibal sets his bag on the one free spot on the table and pulls out a container. When open, the plain black bag appears to be insulated, and the small container holds food of some sort. 

“Is that?” John questions, reaching out for it without thought. 

Hannibal hands it over, “I thought you might appreciate it.” 

John opens the lid and pops it in the microwave for a few minutes. Sherlock can’t help being curious. He lingers in the kitchen wondering what it is. It smells like meat and garlic. 

John pulls the container out and takes a few bites, its defiantly meat. 

“What is it,” Sherlock asks, he doesn’t recognize the smell. 

“Old family recipe,” John answers, with a wry twitch of his lips. 

“Can I try?” he asks. He doesn’t usually eat on a case, but he’s never seen John eat meat before. What would make him change his mind? What would his distant father carry all the way from the states?

John pauses, shooting an unreadable look at his father before handing over the container. 

Sherlock takes a few bites. Its strangely chewy, the slightest tang of copper combined with garlic and onion, but oddly delicious. “Hmm, what is it?” he asks, unable to place the flavor. 

Hannibal replies in perfect French, “Coeur d'homme a la Tripieres.”

**Author's Note:**

> I don't even know, honestly. This idea was rattling around a few months ago, then I dropped it, and then this happened. I have two papers due in school, a lab report, a lab proposal, and a novel to finish; of course I wrote this instead. Sorry. 
> 
> Also Coeur de homme a la Tripieres roughly translates to Heart of man with other organs. Its a common french meal usually done with beef. I've had the beef version it is, in fact, delicious.


End file.
